Dopo Mezzanotte
by Landscaper01
Summary: Set eight months after Bruce and Selina escape to Italy. Selina visits Bruce after-hours at his office. Strictly Bruce & Selina/BatCat one-shot smut, or porny fluff. M rating.


**AN:** I realize that I still have chapters to crank out for my other story, but in the meantime, I thought I'd put a little one-shot out there that has nothing to do with my other story at all. This story is strictly just Bruce & Selina/BatCat smut. No real plot line, no continuing chapters, just pure porny fluff. On any other site, this would bear NC-17 rating for sure, so be forewarned.

A little bit of back story for this, just to set the scene: Bruce and Selina live together in Italy. They've reconnected with Alfred, and together the three of them started and grew a fine arts collection company. Bruce doesn't sit and push papers behind a desk all the time, but yes, they DO have an office headquarters, and that's where the fun smut is taking place.

Read. Rate. Enjoy. :)

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A soft knock came at the stupidly expensive mahogany door that bore the deeply-etched "P" into the glass at its center, and Bruce Wayne – known professionally as Thomas Pennyworth – looked up from his paperwork long enough to realize that it was after 5pm and that his secretary – not to mention the rest of the Italian division of the _Pennyworth Fine Art Collectors_ staff – had departed for the evening.

"Sorry, but I don't take unscheduled after-hours appointments," he called out as he walked to the door and flung it open. _Crazy dealers_, he thought as he shook his head. _Museum buyers can wait for morning hours_.

"Not even for me?"

For a moment, he simply stared at her. Selina. His Selina. Off the clock for the day but still dressed to the nines in her 'professional' wardrobe that she wore when she went out scouring for new pieces for the firm…white blouse that cut deep to show off the slightest hint of cleavage, black pencil skirt, wind-whipped hair tousled around her face from her walk there.

"Well, this is a nice surprise."

"You didn't call to say you'd be late."

It was true, that he hadn't. They'd been in Italy for eight months, he'd been working for five of those months since reconnecting with Alfred, and this was the first time he'd let work of any type bleed into his personal space.

"I lost track of time. Was your hunt successful today?"

"We'll see."

She raised an eyebrow and eyed him like prey as she crossed the threshold of his office, kicking the door shut behind her with one of her three-inch heels. He inhaled her scent as she came closer. It climbed into the back of his throat and left him with an alarming need. He plunged at her with a sudden intensity as they came nose to nose, wrapping his arms around her neck and lifting her slightly off the ground. The buildup of lust that she could illicit in him in the matter of just one minute burbled up from a deep well in his brain. He held her against him as he backed up until his knees hit the leather couch along the side wall of the office, and then he properly greeted her, pressing his lips against hers and clasping his hands around her arms.

She arched against him, responding instantly, and he seized the opportunity to tug her blouse free from where it tucked in at her skirt, running his hands up underneath, sliding his palms along the silky warmth of her skin. He slipped his fingers beneath her bra and pushed up, until the entire garment popped over her curves. He cupped her, pinching her nipples, working her into an aroused mess as he ground his groin up against her, until the ache became a steady pounding, and he felt like his pants were going to strangle him.

She panted against him, moaning every time he shifted the weight of his tortured lower body against her. She wrapped her legs back behind him, holding him there as she stared into his eyes questioningly. "You want to do this here?" she gasped. A sunset view of the Piazzale Michaelangelo – as well as the hundreds of visitors perched on its hill on the south bank of the Arno River – was visible to her naked eye. Selina wasn't a modest woman, but she had to question whether she wanted to start a new criminal record by add _public indecency _to her lifelong list of wrongdoings.

"Yes," he said. "Let me properly apologize for being late." He paused to punch a button on the wall behind them, making the two-way glass to the outside world instantly darkened, locking them in their own private world. Then he kissed her again, down in the crook of her neck, just over the bump of her clavicle, causing her to hitch in his grasp and inhale sharply. He pulled up on her shirt, and she curled into him, bowing her back up off the couch like a bridge, letting him yank it over her head in one fluid motion. Her bra followed suit as he unclasped it and tossed it somewhere behind them, not caring that it landed on one of the Italian marble lamps on his desk.

His own shirt was next to go. After a long pause, he leaned into her, took a fold of skin from her shoulder between his teeth, and sucked, biting playfully. She started grappling with the buttons while he lost himself in the taste of her. The hollow noise – _pop, pop, pop _- announced each one of her successes. As the last one freed his neck from the grip of his collar, he flexed, working off the sleeves as she pulled on them. They caught on his wrists, snagged up against the watch she had recently given him. He growled and ripped and tore until all of the offending clothing was gone.

She lay back against the arm rest of the couch and bit her lip, staring up at him. "You're beautiful," he said, leaning down on top of her, his tongue exploring the cavern of her mouth again. She tasted of mint and so many things he couldn't name. He brushed his jaw against her neck, down along the underside of her chin, and down further to drop a chaste love bite between her breasts.

Desire laid waste to his senses when she started to fumble with the catch of his fly. She popped the button open and slipped her fingers underneath, her red nails brushing the front of his boxers in a fleeting, teasing motion. "You're beautiful," he whispered again. "And you're killing me."

She started with the zipper, slowly, painfully, until he was making grunting noises at her, but he couldn't stop himself. He reached to help her, reached because it hurt not to be released from the confines, free to bury himself inside her. When she could tell that he nearly couldn't stand it anymore, she pushed his hands away with a sultry laugh.

"Selina," he moaned when she peeled the material down his hips and pushed his boxers down. He kicked at them violently when they pooled around his ankles, the issue of needing to remove his shoes yet to be addressed. He paused to kick them across the room, not caring where or how they landed. And then the torture began all over again when he realized they hadn't yet attacked the problem of Selina's skirt, which wasn't the type he could just push up for the time being. He ground into her, frustrated by momentary oversight, pained by the sharp feeling of the cloth against his bare skin. He clawed blindly at the zipper in the back and found himself yanking her skirt down her legs within moments. She rolled into the touch with a moaning sigh, lifting up off the couch.

"Thong?" he rasped out as her glistening arousal came into view for him. She bit down on her lip playfully in response, rewarded when he attacked the scrap of material that ran up over her hip and back behind her, yanking it down. Now with no barriers between them, she resettled in one swift motion.

"Maybe I was _hoping_ you'd be late today," she bit out.

Her hands settled against his rock-hard abdomen, following the light trail of hair that brushed from his navel to the juncture of his thighs, and the heat of her palms burned his flesh. He sighed as he pushed up against her, trapping her hands between their bodies. Her soft skin greeted him this time as he came down on her, and she curled her fingers around his length, positioning him at her opening, teasingly running the head along her folds. He closed his eyes at the sensation of dripping warmth between her legs, rocking back and forth, relishing the feel of her, letting her coat him with her arousal. She parted for him, and then he slipped inside her.

Instant. Erotic. Relief.

One moment there had been agony, agony at not yet being where he needed to be most, and the next moment, the pain gave way to pleasure, like a drug and a high he would never understand. She clenched around him, and he let loose a low choking moan. His vision flared, spots dancing behind his eyes, and for a brief moment, he found himself overwhelmed.

Home. _She_ was his home.

The word rang inside his head as he twisted a little, moving inside her, sending her into her own, shivering, nonsensical pile of limbs and lust.

He leaned in to kiss her, shifting until he was crouching on his knees and she rested interlocked with him, legs wrapped around his waist, heels resting in the crook of his lower back. She sat up slightly and he rose into the motion, grinding a little. The cushions bounced and squeaked beneath their efforts as they resettled. She leaned into him, a look of pleasure dancing across her face as she jerked against him. Her thin fingers ran along the skin of his neck, fleeting. They sat that way, kissing, petting, and he rocked them with little thrusts, just enough to keep them both hanging on the edge of senseless desire, until he couldn't stand the friction of her legs squeezing around his waist as she moaned, couldn't stand the fact that her wet, slick heat wasn't sliding up and down along his painfully engorged shaft, couldn't stand the inner drive that was telling him to stop trying to prolong this, to just take her hard and fast. He pushed her back onto the couch, flattened her out again, held her arms above her head with one strong hand snaked around her wrists, the other clutching at her left hip, and began to pound into her.

"Bruce!" she screamed as her senses flared to life. Her fingers curled against his chest.

She was hot, drenched, and tight… all around him, and completely his. He was a slave to her, to the blinding need to have her, to claim her as his and his alone. She gave into it, too - that urge to move and push, to slip, slide, slip, slide, up and down the length of him, hardened muscle pushing into wet muscle with the erotic slap of skin on skin that echoed in the air around them. He breathed against her neck, licking up the salty taste of her sweat as he watched their shadows blend on the wall behind them.

"What do you need?" he asked as he ran his hand up the shaking underside of her thigh. She flexed against him, her knee rising up to his armpit, thigh brushing up along his scarred ribcage.

Her fingertips danced in his hair, thin fingers running through sweaty tangles that she pushed back off of his forehead. He kept it a little longer now, and she liked it that way. It made him look distinguished, and gave her something to hold onto.

"You," she commanded roughly.

He shook with the need to have her right then. "I want to fuck you," he said, pushing up against her and receding like the swell and fall of an angry wave in the eye of a storm.

"So fuck me," she challenged, eyes glassy. "You know I like it when you play rough."

She boldly opened her legs further, draping the right one almost all the way up on the back of the couch while planting her left foot solidly on the floor, and with satisfaction noticed his eyes turn that darkened color that he wore so well, usually behind a mask, and only for her.

This new angle had caused him to slip almost all the way out, and in response he thrust up to the hilt again in increasingly harder, deliberate motions. Sweat dripped down between his eyes as he put every ounce of effort into his movements, hitting the deepest parts of her as her hips turned the power over to his, the strong _pulse_ of him inside of her hitting every spot just right. It was pain and pleasure mixed just right, the kind of pain that had her biting the inside of her lip and drawing the fresh, metallic taste of her own blood against her tongue. The kind of pleasure that made every twitch of him inside of her electric, coaxing her spine to stiffen every time her ass rose off of the couch for her to meet him, thrust for thrust.

Her eyes rolled back slightly and she began to spasm and jerk against him, every muscle clenched. "Uh! I…fuck. Uhhh. _Fuck. Fuck." _ They were harsh whispers, caught in the grips of the drawn out moans of her orgasm. Her nails bit into his back as she raked her arms down his skin.

Her frenzied clenching drove him into his release, and he let himself go as the rolling, slow burn swept through his lower torso and his pelvic bone jammed against hers. "Selina!" he gasped, briefly losing all other thought, collapsing his sweat-slickened body on hers. For just a moment, nothing else existed except for her and the show of blinding light behind his eyelids. And then it faded, leaving him sated, his lips parting and struggling for air.

Her right leg slumped down to curl loosely around his left thigh, and they lay there for a long while, breathing, subdued and quiet in the increasing darkness. Selina wrapped her arms over his back, ran her hands up and down along his damp skin. Her breaths hit the side of his neck, and she stopped her usual roving, loving, healing touches of his spine to run her fingers through his now-wet hair. He propped himself up again after he recovered and stared at her, his face hovering less than a centimeter over her own. He rested his palm back against her forehead, running it backward into the long tangles of her hair. He kissed her slowly, breathing her in before pulling back to grin stupidly at her.

"Wow," he managed, dumbfounded. They had done _this_ a lot since they'd ventured overseas. Just never…never like _that. _"You should visit me at work more often."

"We never did _this_ in here. Why not?" she whispered in his ear, biting softly against the lobe.

It made him flash back to the earliest time she had touched her lips to his ear, and despite the tiredness creeping into him, he felt the arousal building again as he lay against her, skin on skin, heat to heat. He shrugged. "We could make up for it now."

"Good point," she chuckled. "Do you think Alfred will be looking for us at home?"

"Considering this company bears his name because of me, I think Alfred knows that sometimes I might get stuck at work late," he said. He bent down and kissed her again, reigniting the embers of the fire that still burned.

She ran her hands down over his lower back and gripped his ass, guiding him down into the juncture of her thighs, until he was solidly resting his re-engorged tip against her. She held him between her legs, flexing around him, causing him to moan and shake when she wouldn't let him move again. She held him firmly against her, and he started to pant with the need to slide into her again and start thrusting.

"Selina, I have to..." he whispered, until his voice left him entirely. He said please – really, he did - but it came out with the sound of a tortured moan.

She finally had mercy on him, smiling lazily at him through a wide, red grin when she released him to pound into her again. Without hesitation, he slipped up inside her as far as he could go, trembling as his desire for her tore his mind to shreds. "You have no idea what you do to me," he growled as he drove into her again. And again, and again, and again.

She laughed, but it fell into a deep, long moan after three nonsensical syllables. "_That_ voice? I think I do," she purred between frantic pants. After that, the conversation ceased. He slammed into her roughly, over and over, until she was screaming, his name flying out of her mouth in sync with his bruising thrusts. "Bruce. Bruce. Bruce." He kissed her, swallowing the words. They rattled down his throat like two joined heartbeats, pulsing. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Thump-slide. Thump-slide. Thump-slide.

The peak was in his grasp as she milked at his body with her insides, keeping time with him until he could keep time no more. He groaned and released, shooting into her hotly, shaking as his vision melted into cascade of light and all he saw was her, her glittering eyes and her pale, slightly freckled skin. She was still caught, so he reached down into the slick heat between them and helped her along with his fingers, massaging her until her jaw tensed and her eyes went wide, words stuck at the tip of her tongue as her pelvis fluttered beneath his, harshly at first and then slower, until the tiny spasms stopped. They lay against the couch, breathing heavily, until the dull exhaustion returned, sinking below their skin instead of just clinging to their pores.

"We might not make it home tonight," she whispered finally, her fingers twisting in his hair.

He didn't bring his head up from her neck. "Remind me to switch this out for a convertible sofa bed."


End file.
